


Grand Theft

by poynter



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A little fluffy, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Crimes & Criminals, Does banging count as training, Eventual Smut, Gangsters, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, VicturiBang17, VicturiBang2017, will they or won't they
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 05:24:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12523964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poynter/pseuds/poynter
Summary: AU inspired by Grand Theft Auto V.Victor is a criminal who fakes his death in order to restart his life on the right side of the law. Yuuri is a young hustler who pays his bills repossessing luxury vehicles for a sleazy car salesman. After Victor unexpectedly takes Yuuri on as the protege he never knew he wanted, a visitor from the past convinces the pair to participate in "one last heist." But are they really willing to put their lives– and their budding romance– on the line?





	Grand Theft

“You didn’t have to shoot him!”

“He was a witness!”

“He was _innocent_!”

“Goddammit, Vitya, this happens every time you case a joint before a job! You find one goo-goo eyed employee, and you automatically think they’re innocent because they flirt with you! They’re all just liabilities!” The car hit a pothole as it sped down a one-way street, rattling Yakov’s gun from his grip. He cursed as he fumbled to stow it. “You’re not like these people, you understand? You will never connect with them!”

Victor gripped his bloodstained sleeve, a consequence of a close call with a security guard. “It’s not like that,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Get it through your thick head, Vitya! There are two things you give up when you go down this path: life and love!” Victor felt his pulse resonate in his neck. The getaway driver pulled into a desolate parking garage and Yakov gripped the door handle. “If you can’t hack it, then maybe you’re not cut out for this anymore.”

“Maybe I’m not.”

Yakov whipped around to look at Victor, who was concealing his expression behind his long hair. “Vitya, what are you–“  
  
“I quit, Yakov.” Victor brushed a few silky strands out of his face and smiled. “You’re right, I can’t handle this anymore. Why keep going if my values have changed?”

Yakov stared blankly at his protege. Though Victor’s youthful appearance seemed everlasting, something had changed in his eyes, in his smile, in the soft way he tugged at his bloody sleeve.

“Therapy’s over, kids,” hissed the getaway driver as he haphazardly pulled into a parking space. “Time to ditch the car.”

The crew leapt out and dispersed into two separate vehicles. As Yakov opened the door to a black SUV, he watched Victor run to a subcompact.

“Hey!” Yakov shouted. Victor turned to look at him, lilting smile still on his lips. “If you’re serious about calling it quits, then… I can help.”

Blatantly ignoring the getaway driver cussing him out, Victor sprinted across the parking garage and flung his arms around Yakov. “Thank you,” he whispered as he embraced his mentor. Yakov stood stock-still. This was Yakov’s way of accepting affection, as Victor had come to learn, and he enjoyed every second before running off across the garage again.

“It won’t be easy, you know!” Yakov called out.

“Why can’t it be?” Victor mused as Yakov’s eyes widened. Yakov grunted in reply, then watched his energetic protege wave and nearly get run over by the subcompact he was supposed to be riding in.

“You fuckin’ dumb, kid?” the getaway driver yelled, peeling out toward the exit before Victor had time to close the car door. “You could’ve cost us the whole fuckin’ job! Huggin’ people, Jesus Christ. What is this, graduation day? You sign his yearbook and shit?”

To the driver’s surprise, Victor laughed heartily. “Graduation! Yearbook! I like that. What’s your name? I never caught it.”

Dumbfounded by Victor’s genuine curiosity, the driver averted his eyes and refused to answer.

“Concentrating now, huh? Okay, I’ll stop talking. Good luck!” As the driver ran stop signs and took risky shortcuts, Victor watched the back streets of the city whip past the window. He was hopeful for the first time in years– and now, more than ever, he was grateful to be alive.

 

•

 

“You _killed_ him?”  
  
“I had no choice!”

“I thought he was innocent!”

“Well, he totally was… but he became an issue.”

Yuuri gaped at the dead janitor, who was slouched over in a chair in the back office. He looked over at Chris, his co-worker (of sorts), who appeared perfectly calm in spite of the splash of crimson gracing the front of his shirt. “Did you at least knock him out before you… you know… finished him off?” Yuuri asked.  
  
“I would’ve if he hadn’t been so annoying. The second he saw a _little_ blood in the backseat of that Maserati, he started screaming,” sighed Chris. “I gave him an out, you know. Told him he could talk things over with the boss when he gets back, tied him up in the meantime– oh, that reminds me, I need to stop at The Pleasure Chest on my way home, don’t let me forget– but no, he _had_ to try to wiggle away and call the cops! Such a shame. I really liked…” Chris paused. “…This one. What was his name, again?”  
  
“Oh, God,” whimpered Yuuri. “This is the third janitor in a month. The boss is going to be so mad…”

“The guy was trying to make me go deaf, Yuuri! This was basically self-defense. Like, if someone walked through the door right now, I wouldn’t even know they were there for a full minute because my ears are _still_ ringing.” He glanced at the corpse in the chair and shook his head. “Swear on my life, this janitor let out banshee screams. In the right context, I’m all for them, but this wasn’t the time. Anyway, how’d your job go?”

Yuuri’s shoulders tensed up. “M-my job?”

Chris nodded. “Weren’t you supposed to get some son-of-a-millionaire’s obnoxiously yellow Hummer or something?”

“Yes! Right!” Yuuri exclaimed, voice unsteady. “It… went… normal. Very average. Nothing to report.”

“So you got it?”

“Of course!”  
  
“Ooh, can I see it?” said Chris. His eyes twinkled. “The boss wouldn’t stop going on about how damn _bright_ that yellow color was. I gotta see if I can go blind and deaf in one day.” He glared at the once-screaming janitor. A bead of blood dripped from the corpse’s mouth onto the floor.

“B– but…” Yuuri stammered. “We can’t just leave, uh, _whats-his-name_ here unattended.”

“What, scared he’ll wake up?”

“You know what I mean!”

“You don’t have to play the responsible card, Yuuri. It’ll just be a quick run to the garage.” Yuuri gulped audibly. Chris raised an eyebrow. “Unless there’s some reason you don’t want to show me the car?”

Yuuri slumped down in the office chair beside the dead body. “I screwed up again,” he groaned. “I thought I saw a dog in the road, so I swerved hard and hit a mailbox. The front bumper’s totally scratched.” He sighed. “It turns out there wasn’t even a dog, either. It was just a plastic bag blowing across the street.”

Chris stroked his chin. “Was there someone on your tail?”

“No.”

“Did you trip any alarms?” asked Chris. Yuuri shook his head. “Did you think someone saw you?” Yuuri shook his head again. “Well, there must’ve been some reason you were so shook up–“

“No!” Yuuri exclaimed, clenching his fists. “Nothing happened, okay? I screwed up because I’m a nervous wreck on every job I do, and I can’t help it, I just…” He ran one hand through his hair and exhaled loudly. “Sorry for unloading on you like this. It’s been a day.”

“You’re telling me,” said Chris, then he paused. “If nameless Janitor number three could speak, I’m sure he’d agree, too.”  
  
“I’d almost rather be in his position right now,” Yuuri mumbled.

Chris’s heart sank watching his co-worker succumb to self-doubt. It certainly hadn’t been the first time Yuuri had gotten down on himself– nor would it be the last, judging by his track record of mishaps– but Chris always had trouble watching the fresh-faced hijacker’s confidence plummet.

Chris gingerly pushed the chair bearing the janitor toward the corner of the small room before hoisting himself onto the desk beside Yuuri. The janitor’s head slumped forward with an unsettling sound. Grimacing, Chris extended his leg and moved the chair away a few more inches with the very tips of his toes.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Chris continued as Yuuri shuddered. “You’ve definitely improved since I first met you, Yuuri. Remember the first job we were both on? You know, when you tried to shoot the gangbanger in the alley, and accidentally shattered the window on the Range Rover?” 

Yuuri groaned loudly. “My first failure,” he whined. “And I _still_ can’t aim, after all this time–“

“Okay, no, that’s not what I’m trying to point out,” Chris explained, rubbing his temples. This kid was hard to talk out of his misery. “I’m saying a scratched bumper is nothing compared to that. Besides, I’ve made tons of mistakes too.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

Chris thought about it. “Like… the time I completely messed up repossessing a male porn star’s convertible.”

Yuuri smirked. “What happened? Wait, let me guess. You ended up seducing him and forgot all about the convertible.”

“Yuuri, I’m offended. You really think I’d be so unprofessional?” Chris winked. “I thought no one was home, so I started rifling through his closet for dirty toys. The only thing I found was an angry girlfriend armed with a semiautomatic pistol.”

“So, you didn’t get the convertible?”

“ _Definitely_ not,” said Chris. Yuuri chuckled, which told Chris he’d talked Yuuri off the ledge for the time being. Feeling proud of himself for another pep-talk well done, Chris slid off the table and nearly ran face-first into the office door as it slammed open. 

“ _Boss_!” Yuuri cried out as he stood up straight.

Jean-Jacques Leroy– JJ to his co-conspirators, “boss” to his underlings regardless of their age– smirked as he nearly collided with Chris. “Yuuri! Chris!” he said heartily, then glanced at the corner of the room. “…And Antoine, looking as animated as ever.” Chris nudged Yuuri excitedly over the fact that they’d finally learned the janitor’s name. “Third one this month, guys? Are you for _real_? Not impressed, not impressed. Which one of you did it this time–“ Chris raised his hand immediately. “Appreciate the honesty. Got an explanation?”

“I’m, like, pretty sure he gave me tinnitus.”

“Get rid of him. I mean, _really_ get rid of him. I don’t want to smell a drop of dead guy in this room by tomorrow morning. Got it?”

“You know I’m thorough, boss,” Chris said melodiously. “This place will smell like flowers when I’m done with it. Mostly because what’s-his-name… er, _Antoine_ , should still have some lavender-scented spray in the supply closet.”

“Whatever, Chris, just work some magic. Yuuri, walk with me.”

Yuuri knew that JJ only said “walk with me” to project an image like, _I’m totally not a kid who inherited a corrupt dealership that uses outrageous payments to extort customers._ But even though JJ’s power moves and superiority complex drove Yuuri crazy, he had no choice but to comply with his boss’s demands and follow him through the dealership.

“Chris can be such a loser, am I right?” JJ asked, smirking wide.

“Uh,” murmured Yuuri, feeling uncomfortable throwing his partner under the bus.

“I mean, seriously, don’t shoot the freakin’ janitors. It’s not that hard, man! Feel me?” JJ unlocked the door to his office, which was nothing short of a shrine to himself. Ornately framed pictures of JJ shaking hands with D-list celebrities covered every inch of the walls, separated only by medals and certificates. One time, Yuuri inspected a few of these awards only to discover they lauded JJ for mundane activities; now, Yuuri could never forget that his boss won third place in a hot dog eating contest and snagged the Pee Wee Baseball League’s award for most stolen bases. _An honor, I’m sure,_ Yuuri thought, suppressing a grin.

“Have a seat,” JJ said to an already-seated Yuuri. “So, you know how typically I’d be biting Chris’s head off about slaughtering my janitors?”

“Yeah, what’s with the good m–”

“You’re probably thinking, ‘what’s with the good mood?’” JJ interjected.

Yuuri sighed. “Geeze, how’d you know?”

“Intuition.” JJ shot finger guns at Yuuri and reached into his pocket for his phone. “The good mood is due to a new addition to Leroy’s Luxury Automobiles…” He flashed his phone screen at Yuuri, whose eyes widened as he realized that his boss’s wallpaper was a picture of a daunting statue of JJ himself. His self-assured smirk was painted on the statue’s chiseled face as its head nearly scraped the ceiling of whatever workshop it had been created in.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me how beautiful he is,” JJ said, beaming. “I mean, I already _know_ he’s beautiful, but I like hearing it from other people.”  
  
“Wow,” Yuuri breathed as his gaze briefly intercepted that of the statue’s. A chill ran down his spine. “That’s… just… wow.”

“You bet your ass, ‘wow _.’_ It’s going in the front window of the store this afternoon, and it’s gonna be the talk of the town. Think of all the customers who’ll faint at the sight of this baby!”

“Wouldn’t fainting customers be bad for business?” Yuuri questioned.

JJ shrugged. “At the very least, you and Chris can rob ‘em while they’re out. Speaking of which– _slick transition, JJ_ – next assignment.” He passed Yuuri a folded piece of paper. “Black beauty, this vehicle right here. Owner’s a dunce, some air-headed heiress who’s got more rattle in her jewelry than her head, if you get my drift.”

“I got you,” Yuuri said, grabbing the paper before JJ could think up anymore _oh-so-clever_ ways to say this girl was an idiot. As he stood up to leave, JJ’s glance flickered up to Yuuri one more time.

“By the way,” began JJ as he folded his arms. “Considering the dent on the Hummer you just got, Chris isn’t the only one who’s lucky I’m in a good mood today.”

Yuuri’s stomach turned. He nodded curtly, understanding JJ’s thinly veiled threats all too well, and left the office feeling as though the statue’s eyes were still watching him.

 

•

 

On the fifth anniversary of his death, Victor Nikiforov woke up at ten-thirty, cooked eggs for breakfast, and enjoyed a cup of black coffee poolside as his dog sunbathed at the end of his lounge chair. Serenaded by the distant honking of car horns and rap music blasting from BMWs, he checked his email on his phone.

 

* * *

  _v–_

_happy fifth (you know what i mean). time flies. thought you’d enjoy a trip down memory lane._

_–y_

_p.s.: if you ever change your mind, you still have a place with us. we’ve yet to find a suitable replacement for you._  

* * *

 

Attached was a familiar newspaper article from five years previous. Smiling, Victor laid on his stomach with his head beside his dog’s. “See this, Makkachin?” he asked, flashing the phone toward his furry companion. “Yakov sent us a gift.” Makkachin yawned and rolled on his side as Victor read the article.

 

* * *

  _TWO KILLED, THREE WOUNDED IN BLOODY CONFRONTATION_

_Police rushed to the scene of a local bank on Thursday night after receiving a distress call from an employee._

* * *

 

Victor scrunched up his nose. He still remembered the woman’s shrill scream as Yakov pointed a gun at her head. “Pick up the _fucking_ phone,” he barked at her. “You’re going to tell the police exactly what happened here.”

The woman’s face contorted with a mixture of confusion and utter relief. But as she shrieked into the phone about the hostage situation, she didn’t realize that Yakov was playing a game– a dangerous one– for Victor’s sake.

 

* * *

  _Attempts at a peaceful arrest failed when the criminals opened fire at police immediately upon arrival. Two of the burglars were shot and killed at the scene, while their accomplices remain at large._

* * *

 

_Burglars_. The word was vile and inaccurate. The only life that was taken that day was that of their getaway driver. He was no burglar– and, for what it was worth, neither was Victor. He preferred the term “professional” or “man of many illegal talents.” But the thought of the getaway driver being labeled a posthumous _burglar_ made Victor sick to his stomach.

Upon realizing the driver– an older gentleman, to Victor’s surprise– had been run off the road as cops swarmed the scene, Victor pleaded that Yakov go back and assure the man’s safety. Yakov, however, was adamant. “Risk your own life, then, if he really means that much to you!” he shouted. “But this is your last opportunity to go without consequences, Vitya! Are you really going to risk it all for someone you barely know?” There was no good choice, and Yakov knew this. Minutes later, Victor boarded a helicopter bound for his new life, relief intertwining with guilt as he gazed at the chaos below. 

Yakov proved instrumental in helping Victor fake his death using connections in high places. He remained the only soul alive that knew of Victor’s new identity and whereabouts, and Victor was eternally grateful for his help.

As much as Yakov scolded him for his spontaneous, plan-defying actions during heists, Victor knew that Yakov secretly respected his protege’s ability to improvise. At least, Victor _assumed_ this, despite the many times his risky moves were met with a swift smack upside the head. Victor touched the usual smacking spot and winced. “Still tender? After all this time?” he mumbled, wondering for the first time if Yakov actually _wasn’t_ thrilled with Victor’s on-the-fly decisions.

_Five years with a clean slate? That’s a long time,_ Victor thought as he took Makkachin for a walk later in the day. _What have I accomplished in five years? I suppose remodeling the upstairs bathroom was an accomplishment, considering how long it took for me to decide on the correct shower tiling. Oh, and I taught Makkachin how to surf!_ He pursed his lips. _Well… almost. Getting him to stand on a raft in the pool is close enough._ It was hard not to remember the days when his accomplishments included jacking vehicles for upcoming heists and escaping the cops with bags of cash in tow, but he made an effort to push those memories away as the wailing of sirens echoed through the city.

The high hedges surrounding the neighbors’ ten million-dollar houses felt as though they were planted specifically to keep Victor out. _Five years without knowing who’s hiding behind all these hedges. What if I live next to a murderer? Worse yet, what if I live next to a snitch?_ He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself and hope Makkachin would appreciate these jokes when he retold them to him later. 

It was Victor’s curiosity that initially lead him to this hillside neighborhood on the coast; he was always curious about life on the other side of criminal activity. He hoped it would feel freeing, but mostly hoped to find companionship outside of the _don’t trust anyone_ mentality that was drilled into his head. But without the adrenalin rush and excuse to keep busy, Victor found himself in a constant state of longing. He was enticed by police blotters, ambiguous emails from Yakov, the droves of fancy jewelry stores that dotted his town. In those second-hand bursts of excitement, Victor saw glimpses of the purpose his life now lacked.

“You wouldn’t want me to go back to my old ways, would you, Makka?”

Makkachin peered up from his dinner, snorted, and went back to eating. Victor sighed and poked at the sushi that was delivered from the place around the corner. He wasn’t hungry after watching the news: another robbed corner store, another car jacking at a nearby house…

_Thump_.

Victor's head jerked up. 

_Crrrk. Crrrrrk._

The source of the sound was above Victor, probably in his bedroom. His heart picked up a few paces, beating with a foreign rush of excitement. Cautiously, he herded Makkachin outside before quietly accessing one of his many hidden gun reserves. This particular pistol was hastily stored in a false cereal box in the cupboard. _I should probably get a more secure spot,_ he thought as he listened to tiny creaks in the ceiling to anticipate the intruder’s next move.

 

•

 

It took Yuuri upwards of ten minutes to climb onto the roof, break into an upstairs window, detangle a maroon silk robe from his foot, and descend the stairs. Of course, that wasn’t taking into account the half an hour he spent roaming the neighborhood because he couldn’t decipher JJ’s handwritten address dictating his next hit. _The boss would chew me out if I asked for clarification. I can’t afford that right now_ , he thought, cringing; on the plus side, the “air-headed heiress” JJ spoke of seemed to be away from home, making Yuuri’s carjacking job easy.

The vehicle was, thankfully, parked in the garage. It truly was a gorgeous sight to see: jet black, sleek, and polished to the nines. Yuuri almost wanted to keep this one for himself. As usual, he made quick work of the lock and ignition, hoping to recover a few minutes that he spent searching for the correct house. He sighed happily when he realized there was a remote garage door opener affixed to the ceiling of the car.

“Well, this was a breeze,” Yuuri chuckled to himself as he pulled onto the street. “A well-deserved breeze, considering the week I’ve had…”  
  
“Is that so?”

The sound of a voice in the backseat made Yuuri instinctively yelp and slam on the brakes. He ignored the honking from the car behind him and slowly turned around to face the smirking, silver-haired man who’d unexpectedly tagged along for the ride.

“No, no, don’t stop driving because of me,” Victor said calmly. He pressed his pistol to Yuuri’s temple in a slow, almost sensuous manner. “In fact, I want you to keep going to your destination.” 

A chill crept up Yuuri’s spine as the words slithered into his ear. He pumped the gas and attempted to regain his composure.

Victor gazed at the intruder’s eyes through the rear-view mirror. There was an innocence about him that piqued Victor’s interest in a way he couldn’t quite describe. “You don’t look like the type who would steal things for fun. You’re skittish, timid, and not confident at all. You only seem to be a little younger than me, at that– under different circumstances, we’d be having a drink together, don’t you think?”

Yuuri gulped, deciphering Victor’s colloquial tone as an intimidation tactic. “L– look, I’m just following orders,” he spat out, fingers trembling. “This is just a repo job. The owner of this car, they… they were late on their payments.”

Victor narrowed his eyes. “Well, as the owner of the car, I know that’s a lie.”

“ _You’re_ the owner? My boss said it was some heiress…” Yuuri remembered the scribbled, handwritten note from JJ that was difficult to decipher. Thinking back, it was absolutely possible he’d had gone to the wrong address. “Oh, crap,” he whimpered to himself.

“Who’s your boss?”

“JJ–  er, Jean-Jacques Leroy.”

“That name is familiar,” Victor murmured, then snapped his fingers. “Oh! Is he the one with commercials on the radio? With the jingle that says he’s ‘the king of luxury automobiles?’”

Yuuri was taken aback by Victor’s genuine excitement in the midst of such tension. “Uh, yeah. That’s him.”  
“I’ve always wondered what he looks like,” Victor said wistfully. “Where is his dealership?”

“It’s just up here,” Yuuri muttered uneasily as Victor’s gun rattled in his ear. “It’s the building on the corner.”

Victor looked at the storefront, eyes locking onto the glass facade leading into the showroom. “Perfect. Just perfect. Now, I want you to do one more thing for me…” He smiled and ever-so-slightly pushed harder against Yuuri’s head with his pistol. “Drive through the front of the building.”

 

•

 

JJ had only fallen in love twice in his life: first, he fell for his beautiful fiancee; second, his heart had been captured by a life-size plaster replica of himself.

“Put it right in the front window, boys,” he told the moving crew, a grin spreading from cheek to cheek. “The king needs to survey his kingdom, you know what I’m saying?” After an hour of shifting the statue’s location by mere inches, JJ approved the perfect angle for it to appear “sexy, yet vaguely threatening.” He spent an additional half an hour admiring it before returning to his office, patting himself on the back for commissioning a piece of art worth the hefty price tag. Unfortunately, this feeling proved to be short-lived.

A deafening _crash_ roused JJ from his office and sent him running into the showroom. What he saw was nothing less than a murder scene: Splintered bits of his flawless replica were mixed with shards of glass on the shining white floor; plaster was splattered across the room; and to top it all off, his storefront had been smashed to pieces by a car he’d never seen before. With a gaunt look on his face, JJ knelt to the ground and picked up a slice of statue that contained his replica’s right eye. “Who hurt you?” he whispered seconds before he was jolted to his feet by the sound of a car door slamming.

“Jean-Jacques Leroy,” Victor shouted, marching over to JJ. “Nice to meet you.”

“Who the _hell_ do you think you–“  
  
Victor’s hand shot out to grab a fistful of JJ’s designer shirt. He threw JJ against the nearest wall and smiled as JJ began to quiver in fear. “You look just as I expected,” Victor said in an even tone. “And that was not a compliment, by the way. It was meant to demean you.”

“Get _off_ of me, you fuckin’ murderer–“  
  
Victor’s eyes grew wide, then he chuckled. “Oh, you’re saying I murdered that awful statue? I’d say it’s a good thing we drove through it.”

“ _Awful_?” JJ grunted, throwing Victor off of him. He looked to the car, where an overwhelmed Yuuri was getting out of the driver’s seat and trying to catch his breath. “No way… is that…?”

Yuuri looked over at JJ, stricken with fear. “Boss, I’m–“  
  
“He did the driving, but I gave him the order,” Victor interjected. “If you want to take your anger out on anyone, it should be me.”

JJ crinkled up his face. “Maybe I _will_!” he grunted as he threw a badly-angled punch. Victor ducked out of the way and countered by sweeping JJ’s legs out from underneath him. JJ fell to the ground with a sharp blow to his tailbone, exacerbated by tiny shards of glass. As JJ cried out in pain, Victor crouched beside him.

“You’re fronting a scam operation here, aren’t you?” Victor said while JJ’s eyes watered. “There’s no winning with this kind of work.”

“What do you know about anything? You look like some rich, uptown punk!” JJ growled through gritted teeth, then instantly went pale as Victor unsheathed his gun.

“Appearances can be misleading,” Victor said darkly. He gazed longingly at his pistol before pocketing it again. “Just know that if you ever send someone to my house again, I will not be so kind as to let them drive away.” Yuuri, overhearing the statement, felt his heart drop into his stomach.

Victor walked back to the car with a spring in his step. “I’ll take the keys now,” Victor said to Yuuri, who dropped them in Victor’s outstretched palm post-haste. “Thanks, uhm, whatever your name is–“

“ _Fired_!” JJ roared as he struggled to rise to his feet. “You’re fired, you jackass! This is the final fuckin’ straw! If I ever see your face again, I swear to God, you’re _dead,_ Yuuri Katsuki!”

“Yuuri!” Victor exclaimed, clapping his hands together as a look of terror spread across Yuuri’s face. “Thank you, Yuuri. Do you want a ride?”

“No, I–“

“Hear that? I’ll _kill_ you!” Yuuri glanced back at JJ, whose expression was bursting with rage despite holding his back like an elderly man. JJ leaned on the service counter for support while trying to fumble for a tucked-away gun in one of its drawers.

“On second thought, can I just…” Yuuri skittered into the passenger’s seat without another word.

 

•

 

Besides Victor’s optimistic comments to himself about the lack of damage to his vehicle (“I guess Yakov was right about getting this thing armored after all…”), the ride home was silent. Yuuri stared out the window, mind racing about JJ’s threats, Victor’s strange disposition, and the tumultuous state of his future. It was enough to make his chest burn with anxiety.

“And here we are,” Victor said once he turned into his driveway. 

Yuuri perked up, then observed his surroundings. “Oh, this isn’t my house.”

“Of course not. Did you think I was going to drive you all the way home?” Victor chuckled and turned off the car. “I don’t even know where you live, Yuuri.”

“Right,” Yuuri sighed. He felt completely out of tune with reality. “You’re not going to try to kill me now, are you?”

Victor furrowed his brow. “Why would you think I’d do that?”

“Earlier, with the…” Yuuri made his fingers into a gun and pressed it against his temple. 

A frown spread across Victor’s face. “I just needed to coerce you into doing what I wanted. No hard feelings. I gave you a ride away from that crazy boss of yours, didn’t I?”  
  
“Yeah, I guess you did,” Yuuri murmured, his tone devoid of positivity. “God, if I hadn’t screwed up in the first place, none of that would have happened.”  
  
“I’m not sure what you mean.”

Yuuri flung his head back and hid his face in his palms. “I wasn’t supposed to repo _your_ car. I misread the address my boss gave me. Now I’m jobless _and_ on a hit list.”

“Look on the bright side!” Victor said. Yuuri parted his fingers and peered through the cracks. “Now you have a chance to rethink the path you’re going down.”

Yuuri paused. “Thanks,” he deadpanned, then swiftly got out of the car.

Apologetic words leapt out of Victor’s mouth, but they were drowned out by the sound of Yuuri slamming the door shut. Victor cursed under his breath as he quickly got out of the car, knowing he was ill-equipped to deal with the emotions of others. “Hey, Yuuri!” Yuuri peered over his shoulder, but continued walking down the driveway. “I used to live a similar life to you. If you ever want to get a drink and talk things over, you can come by anytime.”

Yuuri gave a half-hearted wave. Victor watched him walk away until he disappeared from sight.

 

•

 

Victor wanted to help Yuuri, but he didn’t know _why_ he wanted to help. He discussed it with Makkachin over a beer and the local news on mute.

“Maybe it’s because I’ve been wanting that sort of rush lately,” Victor mused as he rubbed Makkachin’s belly. “Maybe I want to thank Yuuri for satisfying that craving, and the only way I can do that is by helping him feel better. Or maybe… I saw part of myself in him?” He shook his head. “No, I don’t think I was ever that hesitant. Or was I? Do you remember?” 

Victor’s dog peered up at him, but only because Victor had stopped doling out belly rubs. “Oh, I’m sorry, Makka.” He resumed, and all was right in Makkachin’s world. “Anyway, what was I saying…? Right, I wasn’t like Yuuri back then. Yuuri seems soft, with only a thin layer of toughness surrounding him, like a frail hardboiled egg. How could I have helped him?” Makkachin didn’t reply. “You’re right,” sighed Victor. “Maybe if I had been more receptive, he would’ve– oh, look!”

Victor un-muted the TV to hear about what the headline referred to as _THE_ _CRASH AT THE_ _AUTOMOBILE KING’S PALACE._

“…Talking with the owner about what happened downtown earlier today. Robert?”

“Thanks, Kelly. I’m here with Jean-Jacques Leroy, owner of Leroy’s Luxury Automobiles–“

“Owner _and king_ , Robert,” JJ added unnecessarily. Victor grimaced. 

“And king, of course,” the reporter muttered. “How are you picking up the pieces after today’s accident, which left your storefront destroyed?”  
  
“Well, Rob, it’s been a tough day. There was a murder here.” The reporter’s eyes got wide. JJ began to panic. “N– not a murder of a person, of course! No murders _ever_ happen at Leroy’s Luxury Automobiles, not a single one! It was more of a _metaphorical_ murder–“

Victor’s mouth formed a straight, unwavering line. As the interview went on, he felt himself become more and more cross with the untrustworthy car salesman.

“Luckily, no employees were hurt in the accident,” JJ relayed to the news crew.

“That’s a relief, Mr. Leroy. What is–“  
  
“However,” JJ interrupted. “I would like any employees who might have been involved with the accident to know one thing.”  
  
“Y… you think the culprit is an employee?”  
  
“I want the guilty parties to know,” JJ said, ignoring the reporter, “that there’s no chance they’ll get away with this.” He smirked menacingly and patted the service counter.

Victor’s pulse sped up, driven by a feeling that initially felt like pure rage– but he knew that it was more than just anger. The emotion was strange, passionate, and something he hadn’t felt in years; it was vicious protectiveness over a complete stranger.

“Makkachin,” he whispered, eyes locked onto JJ’s smug look. “Do you think Yuuri will be alright?”

 

•

 

Ever since the fifth anniversary of his death, Victor Nikiforov woke up feeling empty. He couldn’t place the reason for this, and often plodded through his days with a diminished sense of optimism. It was only when he heard a familiar _thump_ in the ceiling that he understood the source of his vacantness. The thump, of course, was nothing but Makkachin waking up from his mid-day nap on the bed, but it made Victor’s heart race all the same.

One day the thump in the ceiling was followed by the doorbell ringing. _Did I leave the front gate open again?_ Victor thought as he trudged to the door and peeked through the peephole. When he saw the dark-haired boy on his doorstep, he instantly felt lightheaded.

Victor’s fingers fumbled to unlock the seemingly endless mess of locks on his front door– a precaution meant to guard himself against the very kind of criminal he was trying to let in– before swinging the door open with a flourish. “Yuuri,” he said. “You’re not here to rob me again, are you?”

“No, no, I’m…” Yuuri took a deep breath, like he was trying to remember lines from a script. “I’m taking you up on your offer to get a drink.” Victor looked at him blankly. “Did… did you forget about that?”

“Maybe a little.” 

Yuuri sighed and touched the back of his neck. “Geeze, sorry, I knew I shouldn’t have come. Nevermi–“

“How did you get in?”  
  
“Huh?

Victor was peering past Yuuri, down the driveway at the tall gate that was still locked shut. “How did you get in?”

“I climbed over the gate,” Yuuri said, turning red. “I didn’t see an intercom or anything.”  
  
Victor put a hand on his hip. “That’s impressive. I picked that design specifically because it seemed too hard to climb,” he murmured.

“Oh!” Yuuri exclaimed. “I’m not saying it wouldn’t be rough for most people. I’ve been told I’m pretty agile, though, so it wasn’t difficult for me.”

Victor tilted his head and smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll just have to replace it with an even better one. Then we’ll test to see if you can climb it or not.” He took a pristine bomber jacket off the coat hook. “Shall we?” Shocked, Yuuri stammered in response. Victor chuckled. “I promised you a drink. I’m not going to turn you away just because I forgot.”

“I– well– okay,” Yuuri agreed. “You don’t have to do it just because you feel bad, you know.”  
  
“I know. I’m doing it because I want to.” Victor’s gaze seemed to glimmer when it met Yuuri’s.

 

•

 

“Be cautious about who you let into your life,” Yakov had warned Victor before they embarked on their final heist together. “You can’t be so trusting anymore.” Victor found it hard to follow Yakov’s advice, however, when dealing with someone like Yuuri.

Though Yuuri’s body was tense, his eyes let Victor see straight into his core, laying bare his nervous ticks and hidden determination. By the time Yuuri had finished his first drink of the night (while Victor ordered his third), he’d released most of the tension from his shoulders.

Yuuri seemed unwilling to take things into personal territory, letting small talk rule the conversation instead. It was only when Victor offered to close the tab that Yuuri blurted out a rushed, “I need your help.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “With the tab? I’m going to pay, you don’t need to–“

“Not that.” Yuuri inhaled deeply. “I want to work with you… or for you. I’ll do anything you need. I’m great at breaking and entering– er, except when someone like you is in the house, I guess– but I can hot wire a car, jimmy any lock, and I’m stealthy–“ Victor’s hearty laughter stopped Yuuri in his tracks. “Hey! I’m not joking around!”

“I know you’re not,” Victor said, his annunciation blurring ever-so-slightly. “Yuuri, why would you ask me, of all people?”  
  
“Ever since things went bad with JJ, I’ve been looking for someone else to, uh, ‘hire’ me. From what I’ve seen, you’re pretty well-off, so you must know what you’re doing– at least, you know better than JJ does.” Yuuri looked down at his empty drink. “I’m no good at running around with no direction. I need someone who knows what they’re doing to give me a plan or a goal. I mess everything up otherwise.”

Victor leaned his chin in his palm. “You think I know what I’m doing?”

“Yes!” Yuuri exclaimed. “You’ve got an amazing house, a crazy nice car– hell, you got me to crash into my own boss’s storefront! You _know_ how to succeed! I don’t know what you do, or where you’re from, or if you’re going to put a bullet in my head someday, but I had to try to ask, you know?”

Victor pursed his lips, examining Yuuri’s passionate expression. “You should consider taking on a mentor instead of a boss. Someone who cares about you, rather than someone who uses you for their own gain.”  
  
“Then could you do that?” Yuuri said, hot on the heels of Victor’s sentence. “Mentor me, I mean. I need a good teacher, that's all, and then I’ll be able to hold my own.” His plea was met with silence. Victor wasn’t deliberately ignoring Yuuri, though; he was debating his options.

At long last, he smiled faintly. “If only I’d met you sooner.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” Victor began to rifle through his pockets until he produced a thick, black wallet. “I’m sorry. I can’t mentor someone like you.”

“Someone like… what does that mean?” Yuuri muttered with a tinge of annoyance.

“You’re not cut out for this,” Victor replied simply. “You’re on the fence about it, I can see it in your eyes. You should quit while you’re ahead. Trust me on this, Yuuri.” Yuuri’s heart dropped to the floor as Victor rose to his feet. 

“How?” Yuuri said in a low voice, freezing Victor in place. “I know nothing about you. How can I trust your advice?” Victor looked down at the younger man. His eyes had hardened into steel, letting no emotion pour out.

“Can I get you another, sir?” the bartender asked as she passed by.

“Just the bill, please,” Victor said without taking his eyes off of Yuuri. After he’d settled his tab, he nodded toward the exit. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go back to my place. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

 

•

 

“What’s his name?” 

Yuuri was sitting on the floor in the kitchen as he stroked Makkachin’s belly.

Victor laughed. “You know, when I said you could ask me whatever you wanted, I expected it to be about my career, not my dog.” 

“Sorry,” Yuuri said, blushing. He wanted to know everything, but he didn’t know how to ask. Simultaneously, Victor wanted to share everything, but he didn’t know where to start. It was an awkward impasse that was only soothed by dog talk.

Victor sat beside Yuuri on the floor and lent a helping hand to Makkachin’s belly rubs, putting the dog in a state of pure ecstasy. “This is Makkachin. I found him completely by chance.”

“Really? How?”  
  
Victor tilted his head. “It must’ve been nearly ten years ago. My old partner and I liked to burglarize fancy houses. Makkachin was chained up outside of a huge mansion on a very short leash, looking mangy and straining on the line. We connected instantly, just from one look. Isn’t that right?” Makkachin’s tongue rolled out of his mouth as Victor stroked his head. “Anyway, I’ve always had a soft spot for dogs, so I decided I’d let him roam free for a little bit while we did our work. Then the owner of the house came back while we were sneaking out. He chased us out with a shotgun, but Makkachin jumped in our van.” Victor chuckled. “The rest is history.” Makkachin looked up at him and sneezed as if to confirm the story.

“Wow,” Yuuri breathed. “Why can’t I get that lucky? Whenever I see a dog on a job, they just want to tear my limbs off. This one time I made the mistake of trying to calm down a rowdy little Westie. She bit my hand so hard, I still have a scar.” He flashed his right hand at Victor.

“Oh, I’ve had my fair share of bad dog experiences, too! I have a mark on my ankle from a German Shepard.” He lifted his pants up to reveal the remnants of a gash. “I don’t think poorly of her, though. I think she was just hungry.”

Yuuri grimaced at the scar. “Maybe you looked like a really big dog treat.”  
  
“I can only hope I was delicious,” said Victor wistfully.

Yuuri took a deep breath. “Is that… is that what you do, then? Rob houses?”

“Would you like to see my resume?”

“Wh– you have one?”  
  
Victor laughed heartily and shook his head. “I started out robbing cars, then houses, then stores, then banks.” Yuuri’s eyes widened. The echoes of Yakov’s enraged voice rang in the back of Victor’s mind: _trust no one, you idiot!_ “But I’m retired now, of course. Couldn’t bear to worry Makkachin like that.”

“Did you ever screw up? Like, badly?”

“Yes,” he admitted quietly. “There were many times that I compromised entire operations.”

“Why?”

He thought for a moment. “My heart ruled my decisions instead of my brain. I was always told that there were two things I’d give up when I lived a life of crime: life, and love.” With his gaze fixed on the ceiling, he smirked. “I didn’t agree.”

“Is that why you retired?” asked Yuuri. Victor nodded. “So… you got your life and love back, I’m guessing.”  
  
“I suppose.” _Did I_ …? he thought, staring out the window. When Yuuri cleared his throat, Victor’s eyes jumped to his face. A strange feeling gripped Victor’s chest as they locked eyes.

“Can you tell me what it was like?” Yuuri requested in a small voice. “If you won’t be my official teacher, then I want to try to learn as much as I can from your stories.”

Victor was transfixed by the demure look on Yuuri’s face. “Of course.”

He launched into stories from the old days in the order in which he remembered them, grimacing through gory parts, sighing through sad deaths and betrayals. He told Yuuri about close calls and major successes, bullet holes and black eyes, dead friends, dead enemies, dead lovers. Every story faded into a wilting smile and a warning: “You should quit while you’re ahead.”

Yuuri left Victor’s house feeling happy to have spent time with him, yet still unsatisfied. By the time he got home, it was pitch black outside, but the light in the kitchen window was still on. 

“Yuuri? That you?”

“Hi, mom.”  
  
Yuuri kicked off his sneakers and left his coat hanging over the couch. His parents were in the kitchen poring over a mess of paperwork; a quick glimpse of the pages told Yuuri that most of them were bills.

“You’re home late,” his dad said. Bags around his eyes accentuated his fatigue. “Had to stay to help clean again?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri lied. “The rink is really understaffed right now.”

Yuuri’s mom sighed. “What a shame. You should ask them to put up more ads for the children’s skating classes. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind taking on a few more students.”

“As long as they’re not rambunctious, I’m sure!” Yuuri’s dad chuckled.

Yuuri laughed despite not absorbing anything his parents had said. Guilt washed over him, knowing he could never tell his family that he hadn’t actually been working an ice skating rink, and was trying to earn money in a different way. Victor’s warning was clear: _Quit while you’re ahead._ But when Yuuri looked down at the mess of dollar signs on the kitchen table, he knew it was his responsibility to deal with the pain he’d caused.

 

•

 

A week later, Victor’s doorbell rang again, setting a record for amount of times he’d had visitors in a month. Upon seeing a familiar face on his doorstep, Victor flung the door open as Makkachin ran out to sniff the newcomer. “Yuuri! Hello!”  
  
“Victor, I need to talk to you–“

“What a coincidence, I need to talk to you, too! I was _just_ looking at some gates so I can replace the one that you keep climbing, and I need your opinion. Which gate looks like it would be the hardest to get over?”

He shoved a colorful catalogue into Yuuri’s hands. Yuuri studied the choices for a few seconds before pointing to one. “That one, with the spikes on the top. Anyway–“

“Really? But it will look hideous with my hedges. I guess I could ask my landscapers to accommodate it…”

“ _Victor_ ,” Yuuri spluttered, trying to get a word in before he completely lost his nerve. “I came here to tell you that I’m not on the fence.”

“On… my fence?” Victor asked, looking puzzled. “Of course not, you came in over my gate, not my fence.”

“Augh, _no_! I want you to know I’m serious! I know you want me to give this life up, but I can't, it's just not possible. But I'm downright terrible at really basic things, and I need help– so I want you to teach me everything you know!”

Victor regarded him silently for a few moments. Then he snapped his fingers. “Oh, I get it now. You want to hear more stories from my past, right?”  
  
Yuuri opened his mouth to speak, realized it was a futile cause, and turned on his heel. _I guess he isn’t going to believe I’m serious if I don’t back up my words with actions,_ Yuuri thought begrudgingly, mind racing with ideas.

Leaning against the doorframe, Victor watched Yuuri get over his front gate with no trouble at all. A lightbulb turned on in his brain. He shook his head to extinguish the thought.

A few days later, in the dead of night, Victor heard his doorbell ring again. He caught the last glimpse of a shadow hurtling his front gate, then looked down to find a note on the welcome mat.

 

_Check your pool._

 

When he opened the sliding glass door leading to his backyard, Makkachin ran through his legs and straight for an assortment of squeaky toys, rawhide bones, and ornately-designed dog houses littering the perimeter of the pool. As he laughed to himself, the lightbulb once again flickered on in Victor’s mind, burning bright with a single thought: _Yuuri has enormous potential_.

The haul of pet supplies was courtesy of Yuuri’s side hustle. Since Yuuri had been fired by JJ, Chris secretly took Yuuri along on repo jobs, helping him burgle the houses owned by the targets. “Why don’t you ask this Victor guy to be your sugar daddy?” Chris suggested after one of their runs. “He seems like the total package. Smart, rich, hot–“  
  
“I never told you he was hot,” Yuuri said quickly.

Chris chuckled and patted Yuuri’s shoulder. “With the way you talk about him, there’s no way you haven’t checked him out once or twice. He’s hot, right? Got any pictures to share? If you’re not gonna snatch him up, then I want a go at him…”  
  
_Seems like the total package_ , Yuuri repeated in his head, remembering a time he watched Victor play with Makkachin. When he recalled the way Victor’s laughter made his heart pound, he gulped. _No way,_ he thought, dismissing everything Chris had told him. _I can’t think of Victor like that._

All at once, Yuuri seemed to disappear from Victor’s life. Victor couldn’t help but feel uneasy; even if he didn’t actually see Yuuri leave the gifts for Makkachin in his backyard, they were a sign that he was around, thinking of Victor, and most importantly: alive.

 

•

 

Weeks went by before the two crossed paths again. This time, however, the sight of Yuuri on the doorstep was not a happy one.

“I… kind of… got in over my head,” Yuuri puffed, holding his bloodied arm as Victor ushered him into the bathroom at light-speed. “I’ve been… working with a few people, but… they turned on me… I’ve been running from them all night–“

“Who are they? What are their names?” demanded Victor as he rifled through his medicine cabinet.

“I don’t know their real names…”

“I’ll track them down,” Victor promised. “Once I get you fixed up, I’ll go back out there and find them, just tell me where it happened and what they look like. I’ll find them, I swear–”

“And then what?!” Yuuri shouted in exasperation. “You’re _retired_ , Victor! There’s no reason to compromise that for me! All I want you do to right now is make these damn wounds stop bleeding!”

The tears shimmering in Yuuri’s eyes made Victor take pause. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I should’ve asked what you wanted me to do.” Yuuri nodded curtly.

Victor knelt beside Yuuri, disinfecting his various scrapes and cuts without speaking. The air was thick with tension, but the silence bred intimacy.

While Victor bandaged the final wound on Yuuri’s arm, he cleared his throat.“If you think you’re not good at this, why are you doing it?” he asked. Yuuri peered down at him. “Why don’t you stop?”

“I wish I could,” murmured Yuuri, wincing as he brushed against a tender spot.

“You’re hurting yourself over and over.” The harsh tone in Victor’s voice contained a kind of frustration Yuuri had yet to hear from him. “Anyone else would have given up by now. Why not you?”  
  
“Because I _can’t_.” Yuuri’s shoulders tensed up. “I can’t stop, Victor. This is the only means I have of making the money I need.”

Victor stopped wrapping and looked up. “Yuuri,” he said. “If you want me to help you, I need to understand your side of the story. I need to know why you’re doing this.”  
  
Yuuri’s breathing became shallow. “I screwed up,” he muttered. “My family paid for me to go to an amazing college, but I fell short of credits to graduate, and they didn’t have enough money to keep me in school to finish my degree. Now they’re too poor to fix up their inn, so they’re getting less business than ever. They worked their entire lives to open that inn, and I’m the reason it’s failing. Until I pay them back, I’m going to hate myself.” He dug his fingers into his palms until his skin changed colors. “I _need_ to do this. I don’t care whether or not you understand.”  
  
“Then I suppose I don’t understand,” mumbled Victor.

A twisted, dark frustration seized Yuuri as he stared at Victor’s unaffected expression. “I guess you really wouldn’t be a good mentor, huh?” he said, distaste coloring his tone. “You told me I need a teacher who cares about me. In the end… do you even care about what I’m going through?”

Victor felt his heart turn to lead. He looked up, locking eyes with Yuuri in such a way that communicated every fiber of his pain without speaking.

Flustered, Yuuri began to apologize. “That was way too harsh, I didn’t mean for it to come out like–“

“After we met, I was so worried about you, Yuuri.”

The pounding of Yuuri’s pulse resonated in his ears. “Why?”

“I turned your boss against you. You could’ve been killed because of me.”

“That wasn’t all your fault. I’m the one who messed up that repo job.”

“Yes, and I’m the one who told you to destroy the storefront and the grossly self-absorbed plaster statue.”

“And I’m the one who shouldn’t have worked for that asshole in the first place.”  
  
“And I’m the one who still cares about you in spite of all of that!” Victor’s voice seemed to echo through every room in the house, ringing in the pause that followed.

“Why do you care about me, then?”

Yuuri’s expression– his puzzled, innocent expression– made Victor take a step back. Why _did_ he care so much? Why was he constantly worrying about Yuuri’s wellbeing? Why would he do anything to keep a stranger from committing to the line of work that he even found himself missing?

_Life and love_. 

The phrase ate at Victor’s brain day and night, reminding him of what he’d been chasing and what existence he could’ve had if he hadn’t cared about those frivolous L-words. 

Then there was Yuuri. The thought of him made the L-words flash across Victor’s mind like lightning. Suddenly, he knew what he had to do. 

Yuuri opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Victor stood up and left the room.

The mirror reflected Yuuri’s wilted expression. He looked himself in the eyes, barely recognizing the shambles staring back at him. It reminded him of how worn out he looked– in fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t worn out. His only surges of energy seemed to come from his conversations with Victor. He felt more comfortable living through other people’s successes than experiencing his own failures.

“I do understand.” 

Shaken from his trance, Yuuri whipped his head toward the doorway where Victor stood. Victor held a carved wooden box with an intricate clasp in his arms. “I was like you, once. I meant to help people, and I ended up hurting myself in the process.” Victor’s soft chuckle lacked amusement. “I want to teach you, Yuuri.”

“Really?” Yuuri said as he rose to his feet with some difficulty.

“On one condition.” Victor drew closer. The small wooden box spanned the entire space between their bodies; they were so close, Yuuri could feel Victor’s breath on his skin. “The second you get enough money to pay your family back, you leave this work behind.”  
  
Their gazes connected, heightening the anticipation. Yuuri knew damn well that “leaving this work behind” wasn’t as easy as it sounded when it rolled off of Victor’s tongue, but he needed support no matter what the cost. “Alright,” Yuuri said. “Deal.”

Victor smirked. “Wonderful,” he said. “That means it’s time to celebrate this new partnership.” He opened the clasp on the wooden box, revealing two handles of top-shelf vodka resting on a velvet cushion.

Yuuri stared at the bottles, expression blank. “You know I just almost got killed by gangsters, right?”

Victor nodded excitedly. “No better time to drink!”

Yuuri would soon discover he was right. Anxieties about his new enemies crumbled with a few strong cocktails, and he was too eager to begin being taught by Victor to worry about much else.

Though Yuuri paced his drinking as to avoid making a fool of himself, it was inevitable that Victor’s drinks would catch up to him. Eventually, Victor caught himself staring off into space when Yuuri giggled at him. 

“What was I saying?” murmured Victor. He stood across the kitchen island from Yuuri, who was sitting on a bar stool with his chin resting in his palm. They’d been talking for hours at that point, swapping stories between laughter and drinks.

“You were rambling,” Yuuri told him with a smile. “Something about shooting a gun, I think.”

“I _was_ rambling about shooting a gun, wasn’t I?” Victor said, rubbing his face in anguish. “Oh, right! I was relating to you and your struggles. I think you’re probably messing up your fundamentals, like your stance, or the position of your hands…”

“But, like, I _know_ how to do those things,” Yuuri said emphatically. “I just can’t get the bullet to do what I want it to do.”

“Really? Why don’t I believe you?”

“Hey!” shouted Yuuri while Victor laughed. “I have my fundamentals down! At least I, uh, think I do…”

“Alright!” Victor exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “Then show me! I have some targets downstairs.”

“N– now?” stammered Yuuri. “But we’ve been drinking!”

“Yes, and sometimes the bartender who’s been serving you shots all night turns out to be a member of a rival gang. You should always be prepared, Yuuri. Come on!” Victor grabbed Yuuri’s hand and pulled him off the stool. Yuuri gulped audibly.

If it was possible to exhibit lithe grace while shooting a gun, Victor was the textbook example. Yuuri couldn’t take his eyes off of the way his body seemed to flow with the recoil, as though he was dancing instead of hitting a target.

“I guess this is our first lesson together,” Victor enthused as he handed Yuuri the pistol. “Show me your shot.”

The lump in Yuuri’s throat grew with every terribly-aimed round he shot. He could practically see the scorn on Victor’s face in his mind every time he landed way off target. _Alright, Yuuri,_ he thought to himself as he bit his lip. _Stop messing around. Actually try with this shot!_ He fired off another round and somehow managed to hit the target next to the one he was aiming for.

“Stop,” Victor barked. Yuuri turned around to face him, looking sheepish. “Show me your stance.”

Yuuri nodded and moved into the position he’d been taught: _feet shoulder width apart, left foot a step in front, knees a little bent–_

“Again.”

“Huh?!” Yuuri cried out, discouraged by Victor’s grimace.

“Get into your stance again.” Yuuri obeyed. “That’s not right, either. Here, I’ll show you.”

In one fluid motion, Victor got in position behind Yuuri. His hands slithered up Yuuri’s arms and adjusted the slight angle of his elbows. The sensation of Victor's body pressed against his own caused Yuuri’s lips to part.

“You’re too rigid. It’s like you’re nervous,” Victor commented in a low voice. “I don’t make you nervous, do I?”  
  
“No,” he replied, tone wavering.

“Good,” whispered Victor. He slid his hands down Yuuri’s torso to his waist. Yuuri felt unbearably hot as Victor’s slender fingers curled around his hips and moved him so that their bodies were pressed even closer together.

“How does this feel?” Victor murmured into Yuuri’s ear. The feeling of his warm breath sent shivers down Yuuri’s spine and made his body twitch on reflex, resulting in a jolt to his trigger finger.

_BLAM._

Yuuri yelped loudly at the sound of the gun going off. Victor scrunched up his face. “So I _do_ make you nervous,” he said with a chuckle as he pried his body off of Yuuri’s. “There’s no time to be nervous in dire situations. You need to practice not accidentally shooting while I’m touching you. Want to try again?”

The way Victor said _touching you_ reminded Yuuri of soft, sensual silk rubbing against his skin. His cheeks flushed instantly, reddened by the memory of what Chris had said: _He’s hot, right?_ “Uhm, well, uh, I… guess… we could… try?” he babbled. Victor’s arms slid around his waist.

“Relax,” cooed Victor. “Get into your stance.” 

Yuuri inhaled and closed his eyes as he moved, trying with all his strength to ignore how safe he felt in Victor’s embrace. _Feetshoulderwidthapart, leftfootastepinfront, kneesalittle–_

“You look like you expect me to kiss you.”

Yuuri’s eyes shot open and he realized his lips were puckered. “Oh. Look at that,” he said unevenly. “Ha, ha, maybe I do.”

It was a joke, a way to alleviate the thick tension between them, but Victor’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. “I think your problem lies in your lack of confidence,” he commented.

“Confidence!” Yuuri blurted out with a strained laugh. “How am I supposed to _learn_ confidence?”

“For starters, if you want me to kiss you, you should just ask.”

In that moment, Yuuri couldn’t tell if the room was spinning from the alcohol or his mind was going through a blender. “Is this some sort of test?” he asked cautiously, attempting to understand Victor’s angle. “Like… like, if I can keep my composure when you kiss me, then it’ll help me during gunfights? Or something…?”

“Of course,” Victor said in spite of the way his heart sank to the floor with disappointment. “That’s all it is. A test.”

“Then do it,” Yuuri encouraged him. “Kiss me.”

In the seconds that followed, Yuuri and Victor gazed at each other in silence, feeling the weight of their respective vulnerabilities.

The last three people Victor had kissed wound up dead. Granted, all three were salespeople from stores and banks he’d cased, but it never got easier to step over bodies of his potential lovers as he ran to the getaway car. Since then, he was reluctant to lock lips with anyone.

Yuuri hadn’t been kissed since the last time he went out with Chris. “What, you haven’t made out with anyone since high school?” Chris had said, a tinge of annoyance in his voice as he grinded with a guy he’d met on a dating app. “Go kiss that hottie who’s been eyeing you up all night, then. He doesn’t look _that_ creepy.” After swapping spit for a few minutes, the “hot guy” invited Yuuri to participate in a threesome with him and his wife, which made Yuuri slink away to a dark corner of the club for the rest of the night to remain unseen.

Despite his inhibitions, Victor brought his hand to the nape of Yuuri’s neck. The air seemed to burst with static, blurring his hearing and scattering his eyesight. Yuuri placed his hand over Victor’s and looked into his oceanic eyes. When their lips met, the static in the air popped and fizzled, coaxing them to take their passion further, further, further. But they broke apart quickly in spite of it, ignoring the lightning striking the ground between them. Breathless, they stared at each other in awe.

For the first time in his life, Victor was at a loss for words. “Uh– uhm,” he stammered with uncharacteristic nervousness.

“Wait,” Yuuri piped up. “Let me try something.”  
  
Victor traced the outline of Yuuri’s body with his eyes as he got in position to shoot. There was something different about Yuuri’s stance now, though; he appeared bolder, more sure of himself, and free of stress. _Did kissing him actually help?_ thought Victor before he jumped at the sound of the pistol being fired.

“ _Ha_!” Yuuri yelled, turning to Victor with his hands in the air. “Did you see that, Victor? Almost dead-on! That was _crazy_! Let me see if I can do it again…” And he did, again, and again, and again, improving his accuracy with every shot. Victor couldn’t believe his eyes– his aim was impeccable.

“How did…” Victor’s voice trailed off and he shook his head. “Yuuri! You’re amazing!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

“I think your idea worked,” Yuuri said incredulously. “Did that sound crazy? Am I just tipsy enough to believe it? You can tell me if I am.”  
  
“Maybe.” Victor stepped closer. He ran his hand from Yuuri’s shoulder down to his wrist, letting his fingertips graze the barrel of the gun. “Or maybe I should kiss you more often.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is my submission to the 2017 Victuri Big Bang! I have a lot more to write but I ran short on time, so consider this part one of three. (Rated explicit for upcoming scenes in the next two chapters.)
> 
> I was partnered with the wonderful schmesa on tumblr who's been working on some awesome art for this fic, so go check their stuff out!!! ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> This has been so fun to write and I'm happy the big bang gave me an excuse to get this idea onto paper. Thank you so much for reading!!


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